Wolf
by LickleSoxy
Summary: The observations were easy; speaking them out loud would likely provoke the aggravated animal.


**A/N: **Over at LiveJournal, I asked for a prompt for any fandom. seraphina_snape gave me the word _wolf_, and I chose _Sherlock_ as the fandom. I'm very grateful to her for the prompt word, and I hope this story is enjoyable.

**Wolf**

There was a slight parting in the trees, just off to his right, that was large enough for an animal to jump through. Darkening leaves gave away the fact that the small opening was used; quite frequently, if the mangled prints on the ground were an indication. Foxes might have used it at one point, or some dogs that had broken free of their leads. Now, though, only the wilder, more aggressive canines dared to tread past the gap.

He'd spotted it the moment they'd walked into the closed area in the forest. All directions, save for the pathway they'd been taking, were blocked by greenery, except for that single spot. Shrugging off the information, as it wasn't important, had been a rapid and easy decision. Even now, after the gap had been used, Sherlock understood that it was still insignificant. Having glanced at the opening earlier, he knew how the wolf in front of them had got to this location without detection, but that didn't matter.

It did leave him with an advantage, though.

The others - Lestrade, John, Abbey - had the trouble of pondering how the animal had advanced on them without anyone noticing it. That was a distraction; one that wasted precious time on a detail that honestly, in this circumstance, did not need acknowledgement.

Each of their bodies had reacted immediately towards the threat before their minds had conceived that there was danger close by. Muscles tensing in a tiny shock, Sherlock swallowed back any words that wanted to escape. He could decipher the animal's motives for this bizarre attack method - another was near, and it was almost certainly young if this one was willing to present itself to four humans - and simply state that it was weakened by an old injury on its left hind leg; despite this, it was still willing to put itself in harms way to protect the other, which was why it had yet to attack.

The observations were easy; speaking them out loud would likely provoke the aggravated animal. Sherlock admitted that he was a show off, but he was not stupid. Allowing his ego to cause a response from the wolf would not be acceptable. John did not have his gun with him, Lestrade was also weaponless, and neither Sherlock or Abbey had anything at hand that would be able to defend themselves against claws and teeth.

The simplest solution was to wait it out, though that proved to hold problems that could not be prevented.

Fear was not an emotion Sherlock experienced on a high level. He did feel it, obviously, yet only in small doses. His eyes did not play tricks on him, his ears never exaggerated sounds, and his heart rate stayed at an almost fixed rhythm. Of course, the beat did increase during other emotions, such as excitement when dealing with a case deemed worthy of his time, but that was a different reaction to the one achieved when being overcome with fright.

Cancelling out the noise of his own heart beat by focusing on the others around him, and the wolf, Sherlock kept his limbs stiff and back straight. Eyes remaining on the sleek fur covering the wolf, he paid no attention to its gaze. Staring at the animal's legs was more of a priority at this moment.

Taking care of his own body's unnecessary reactions wasn't something he could control too easily, yet it was feasible. He would not move unless the action was urgently required.

The two men and one woman standing in this open, light space with him, however, were another story. John was fine, given his military background, and probably wouldn't move. Abbey was the most likely to turn tail and run, though she _did_ have a superior intelligence when it came to animal behaviours. One of the reasons she'd been asked to bring them here was due to this truth, and it was the fact that Sherlock was relying on to keep her calm.

When it came down to it, Lestrade was the actual problem. He was not a coward; it would be a dishonour to the man to even suggest that he was. He wouldn't even think of fleeing this area. No, the problem lay with his voice. Although relatively smart, he had a mouth on him that was prone to working rapidly, no matter if it needed to be used or not.

The thought that this situation could spiral into a terrible event, because of a man whose mouth was bigger than his mind, did not make Sherlock particularly happy. He needed to think of a way for them all to get out of here without anyone coming to harm.

-o-

"What's he doing?"

Looking up from his newspaper, John titled his head a touch as he glanced in Sherlock's direction. Sitting in the chair closest to the window, he held his hands by his mouth as his blue eyes stared at the floor. It took a quick glance at the clock to realise that he'd been in that position for around ten minutes now.

"No idea." Turning back to the article he'd been reading, John chose to ignore Mrs Hudson as she let out an audible tut, before she directed her attention to the mug resting at Sherlock's feet.

"I go to the trouble of making him a cup, and he doesn't even drink it," she complained.

"I'll drink it when I'm ready. Now, would you kindly shut up?"

Sherlock's response should not have been startling. Regardless, John found himself jerking in surprise as the answer burst into the room with abruption. Dropping the newspaper into his lap, John could not stop his eyebrows scrunching into a frown as he once again turned his gaze to his friend. The vacant expression had been edited, removed and changed for a slight scowl. There was no malice in his features, but John knew that, if Mrs Hudson were to continue speaking, the conversation would probably turn offensive. Asking Sherlock to apologise in such circumstances was hard enough; actually getting him to _say_ the words was nigh on impossible.

Luckily, Mrs Hudson chose to take Sherlock's comment with an amazing grace. Giving a quick, thin smile, she nodded at John once, firmly, then turned and left the room. It appeared that she was not in the mood to deal with Sherlock's antics; John could not blame her.

"Care to explain what you were doing?" John asked, tone neutral. The curiosity he held wouldn't go unnoticed, but he could at least try and act nonchalant. Not that Sherlock wouldn't simply point out what John was really feeling, if he cared enough to be deliberately bothersome.

Pressing his lips together, Sherlock closed his eyes and let a sigh slip out his mouth. Somehow, without failure, someone would always manage to interrupt his thought processes during the most important piece of his imagined happenings. To the average person, it would seem as if he were cursed. Sherlock had the correct amount of sense of observation to realise that it was coincidence, and nothing more. That didn't make the instances in which he was pulled from his musings any less irritating, though.

"Wolf."

John's frown deepened.

"What?"

Opening his eyes, Sherlock allowed them to narrow as he regarded John. The emotion behind his features was not recognisable.

"It's a thought process I do to keep my mind active when not on a case."

"So, you were daydreaming," John stated.

"You would call it that, but no. Far more complicated than what you could comprehend, John."

Although he was used to the comments - were they insults? - by now, they still stung a little. John was well aware that he wasn't the brightest person in the world, or even London for that matter, but he was intelligent. Just because Sherlock somehow saw and deduced things that others could not, did not mean he had permission to belittle everyone else around him. The trait was something John did not admire about his friend, and that was saying a lot. There weren't many personality ticks that got on his nerves.

Despite the fact that he should reprimand Sherlock, either for the treatment of Mrs Hudson or the treatment of him, or perhaps _both_, John wasn't up for a pointless battle. Victory would never be claimed, even if he gained some kind of garbled attempt at an apology from Sherlock. The effort needed to receive such a useless word would not be worth the hassle; he didn't want to bother wasting his time.

"Whatever you say, Sherlock." Voice quiet and tone hard, the indication that he wanted to drop the subject was clear. Anyone would get the hint; there was no requirement to be called Sherlock Holmes in order to understand his desire.

Clutching at the ends of the newspaper with his fingers, feeling the familiar coolness of the material against his flesh, John brought it back up from his lap so he could begin reading it once more. He wasn't interested in it now, really, but it was something to do to pass the time. Plus, it gave Sherlock the ability to do whatever the hell it was he was doing, in peace and without someone offering an unwanted distraction. Reading the gossip and apparent news of a tabloid paper helped both gain something they wanted for a short while.

Out of the corner of his eye, John was unable to prevent himself from watching as Sherlock's gaze returned to the floor. Expression lowering into a strange blankness, his eyes stared ahead without actually seeing anything there.

If they'd been in a classroom, and the direction of his gaze had been out a window, the hypothetical teacher would have considered him to not be paying attention, and a yelling would take place.

John shook his head.

No matter what he said, the visual evidence implied he was daydreaming, and John wasn't going to change the word to another, despite any amount of protesting Sherlock did.

-o-


End file.
